


You Can't Love the Ocean If You Don't Love the Waves

by miss_begonia



Category: British Actor RPF, Internet Personalities, Music RPF, Pop Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF, Years & Years (Band)
Genre: Beach House, Boys Kissing, British, First Time, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Musicians, North Carolina, Politics, Queer Themes, Teasing, Travel, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vacation, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8097397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: We will bring the queer to them, Olly had said grandly, his voice taking on that fierce tint that has been Troye’s kryptonite since the first time they met.*I should never, Troye thinks, make travel decisions while high.*North Carolina beaches are beautiful. Olly was not wrong about that.Troye stands on the dunes and feels the wind card through his hair. The air smells like salt. Troye grew up in Perth and he knows the ocean like the back of his hand but this is different. Different ocean, different side of the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rivers_bend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/gifts), [andsparkles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsparkles/gifts).



_ We will bring the queer to them,  _ Olly had said grandly, his voice taking on that fierce tint that has been Troye’s kryptonite since the first time they met. 

They’d been sitting on Olly’s couch smoking a joint and watching  _ House Hunters _ . The couple on the screen said:  _ We just want to have the home of our dreams, y’all.  _ They were from North Carolina and their dream home involved a lot of cream pink and possibly fake plants. Olly was enchanted.

_ We’ll get arrested,  _ Troye said, watching the woman onscreen run her hands over the walls as if she could sense spirits that lived inside them.

_ Why would we get arrested?  _ Olly said.  _ It’s not illegal to be queer there, they just won’t allow us to use the bathrooms. _

Troye knew all about the trans bathroom bill in North Carolina. He had spent significant Twitter time reassuring his youngest American fans that while this was yet another horrifying American thing he didn’t understand, it was not apocalyptic. It was not Brexit. 

He didn’t think Olly had a full grip on the situation.

_ I don’t mean about the bathrooms,  _ Troye said.  _ I mean because someone will say something stupid to you, and you’ll go full on mental and stab them in the eye. _

Olly pouted.

_ They have beaches there like you wouldn’t believe,  _ Olly said.  _ Have you ever seen  _ Dawson’s Creek?

*

_ I should never,  _ Troye thinks,  _ make travel decisions while high. _

“Where are we  _ from _ ?” Olly is saying to the deputy sheriff, leaning out the car window as if he wants to eat the officer alive.

To be fair, the sheriff is a particular kind of Southern delicious. Troye is worried for so many reasons.

“Where are you boys comin’ from?” the sheriff repeats, impatient.

“Well, most recently I was in Rome,” Olly says. “My band--”

“We flew into Charlotte,” Troye interrupts. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

The sheriff doesn’t seem to know what he’s asking, exactly. He pulled them over on a back country road in southern North Carolina in their rented Audi with New York plates. Troye is never trusting Google Maps again.

“Y’all are not from around here,” the officer says.

“No,” Troye says. “We are not.”

“So where are you--”

“I was born in Yorkshire,” Olly says, his smile Cheshire cat-sized. “We’re famous for our pudding and our accents. Also we’re pretty good at cricket.”

The sheriff looks so horrified that Troye wants to take his picture and Instagram it right away, though that could cause some problems.

“Officer,” Troye says, “can you tell us what we’ve done wrong, please?”

The sheriff takes in a deep breath. They were driving the speed limit, because Olly drives like a grandpa, and there is literally no one else on the road.

_ Bring the queer to them,  _ Olly had said.

This is what that means.

“Y’all have a safe trip,” the sheriff says, finally. "Be careful."

He walks away, and  Olly watches him go.

“That uniform, though,” Olly says. “Look at his--”

“Just drive,” Troye replies.

*

North Carolina beaches are beautiful. Olly was not wrong about that.

Troye stands on the dunes and feels the wind card through his hair. The air smells like salt. Troye grew up in Perth and he knows the ocean like the back of his hand but this is different. Different ocean, different side of the world.

“Look at this,” Olly says. “You can swim in the water. You can  _ swim  _ in the water, Troye.”

Olly is tripping down the dunes. His hair is a mass of whispy curls and he is so thin Troye thinks maybe the wind will blow him away. Olly always seems dubiously tethered to the earth anyway.

As Troye watches, Olly walks into the ocean fully clothed. It makes Troye think of sad things, of people who walk into the ocean and don’t come out again, but Olly goes under and comes back up and raises his arms in victory.

This is different.

*

Olly, it turns out, likes to be naked at the beach.

“Olly,” Troye says, when he finds him sunbathing in the nude on their deck, “there are  _ children  _ about.”

“Is that really the first thing you think about when you see me like this?” Olly says. “Because that makes me sad.”

Troye doesn’t want to talk about his first thoughts whenever he sees Olly breathe, let alone be naked in public. They are supposedly just friends. It is exhausting and it was a very long flight over from London.

“Put some pants on at least,” Troye says.

“You never let me have any fun,” Olly says, but he does put on a swimsuit. It is small in the most vexing way.

Troye reads a book about Freddie Mercury in the sunshine. He puts on approximately four containers of sunscreen. Olly lies still with headphones on and cheerfully burns.

“Do you think they miss us?” Olly asks. “Wherever is back home?”

Troye’s mom wrote him an email this morning about the importance of sunscreen and bug repellant. He feels loved.

“They always miss us,” Troye says.

*

Troye makes pizza for dinner, and Olly is astonished.

“You made this,” he keeps saying, and Troye feels like he is Jacques Pepin and Julia Child and Mario Batali all rolled into one.

Watching Olly eat is the worst thing to ever happen to Troye. He makes little noises every time he takes a bite, and licks his lips, and does many other things not conducive to being just friends.

“It’s so gooooood,” Olly says, and Troye hopes he hasn’t blushed to the color of Olly’s tiny red swim shorts.

“Well, there will definitely not be leftovers,” Troye says.

“I love you,” Olly tells him, and Troye’s heart flips.

*

Olly writes a song on his iPad. It has lyrics about beautiful beaches and beautiful boys with tousled hair. Troye watches him and tries not to think about exactly what and how much he wants.

“Come here,” Olly says, beckoning him over, and Troye slides over on the couch so their knees are pressed together.

Troye makes a beat on Native Instruments. It sounds like a Years & Years song.

“I’m going to steal that,” Olly says.

_ Take whatever you want from me,  _ Troye thinks.

When Olly sings, his voice trembles in a way that makes Troye shake.

*

Troye is pretty sure Olly rented the only beach house in the entire world to have one bed.

“I don’t snore,” Olly says, as if that is the issue at hand.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Troye says.

“Don’t be daft,” Olly says.

“Well,” Troye states.

“We can share the bed,” Olly says. “It’s plenty big and we are very small.”   


This is true, but Troye still has fears.

They sleep together. Troye wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of the waves gently crashing on the shore. Olly is wrapped around him, his legs flung over Troye’s, his hand curled in Troye’s hair.

Troye breathes.

*

Troye wakes in the morning to find Olly gone. He sits up and realizes Olly is out on the balcony, wearing his boxers and nothing else, standing with his arms open wide to the wind.

The planes of Olly’s back are gorgeous. He is narrow and real. Troye wants to put his hand on his shoulder and feel the warmth of his skin.

The sunrise has turned the sky pink. Troye stumbles out onto the balcony. The air is so soft, the caress Troye wants but doesn't want, the touch just this side of not enough.

Olly’s eyes are closed and his eyelashes are long. Troye stands there, feeling awkward.

“Come here,” Olly says.

Troye shuffles a little closer. Olly still hasn't opened his eyes.

“Come  _ here, _ ” Olly says. “Touch me.”

Troye stops breathing.

“What?” he says.

Olly opens his eyes.

“Troye,” he says. “You are not this dumb.”

Troye’s mouth is dry. He doesn't move.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Olly says, and comes to Troye instead. He lifts his hand and presses it to Troye’s cheek. He is just as warm as Troye imagined.

“What--” Troye starts to say.

“I'm not a patient person,” Olly says. “I can't wait for you anymore, so if you have serious objections, you need to tell me right now.”

Troye blinks.

Olly’s lips curve at one corner, and then he presses that curve to Troye’s mouth.

He tastes like toothpaste. He cups his hand around Troye’s jaw. His fingers are long and press points of heat into Troye’s cheek, but that is not why Troye is on fire,  _ oh no _ .

When they separate, Troye exhales a rush of air. His heart is a dance beat.

“I didn't think,” he says, “that you wanted that.”

Olly rolls his eyes. He  _ rolls his eyes.  _

“I brought you on a romantic beach vacation,” Olly says. “To a place no one would find us.”

“Yes, but--”

“I wrote you a song. I sunbathed naked. There is only one bed.”

“I _knew_ you did that on purpose,” Troye says.

“Of course that was on purpose,” Olly says. “Everything I do is on purpose.”

Troye's brain hurts.

“But you're Olly Alexander,” Troye says. His lips feel numb.

Olly shakes his head.

“And you're the most beautiful boy in the world,” Olly says.

Their second kiss is slower, softer, a shared breath.

“Bring the queer to them,” Olly says. “This is what that means.”

 

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> Written at the beach for two of my favorite ladies. <3
> 
> Also, that incident with the cops? Totally happened. I mean, probably not to Troye Sivan and Olly Alexander. But definitely to me.


End file.
